Honor Bound
by Arysta
Summary: WIKTT Challenge Response: The Marriage Law. Hermione finds herself unexpectly betrothed to--Snape?
1. Chapter One

Chapter One

"Your choice is pitiful," Erasmus Snape said.

"I'm… I'm sorry, sir, but…"

"But?"

"Well, we simply don't have that many young women in the records yet."

Erasmus eyed the few names scratched onto the parchment. "I thought this Betrothal Contract nonsense was a law. Are you not enforcing it?"

The little man laughed. "You misunderstand. The Contract is a law. You—or your son—can pick any witch from this list. She will be legally listed as a member of your family. The trick is…"

"Yes?"

"Well, the muggle parents insisted on a clause, as it were."

"Intriguing," Erasmus said. "What did they insist on?"

"That their daughters be given the choice to register."

"Or, presumably, to not register."

"Exactly." The little man nodded toward the scroll. "That's why there are so few names."

"And I am the first to see this list?"

The little man fell still. 

Erasmus turned to him. "I am, correct? I had specified…."

"Well, there was one other who saw the list." He must have seen Erasmus' anger, for he turned quite red and began to babble, "Fudge himself showed it to him. I didn't have any control over it. You must understand!"

"Hush!" 

Silence fell.

Erasmus pinched the bridge of his nose and sat down in a squishy seat before the fireplace. He unrolled the scroll once more. He touched names randomly, reading the statistics that popped up and glancing over the photos that appeared by each name. 

"These girls are all quite… interesting." 

"I did find so." The little man agreed. "Are you looking for anything in specific?"

"Brains. And power."

"Ah. If you'll let me, then." The man leaned over Erasmus' shoulder and touched his finger lightly to one of the names. "This girl is most promising."

"Hermione Granger," Erasmus read. "She certainly isn't promising in the looks department." He grunted as he scanned her statistics. "But as you say, she is quite powerful. And… she has already met my son, I see. 'Miss Granger's skills at the cauldron are quite proficient.' Where did you get this quote?" 

"That's from her end-of-year notices. It was right next to the scarlet 98.4% in Potions."

Erasmus' brows rose. "No less? It is a shame that she is from Gryffindor, but the Snape line has always bred true."

"Indeed it has, my Lord."

"Alright then. Hermione Granger it will be."

The scrolls were produced with a wave of the man's wand. He touched the places that Erasmus was to sign. Several lines already glowed with the girl's elegant signature. As he initialed the last box—the one that stated he was acting on his son's behalf as Head of the Line—a shimmer passed over the parchment. 

"All right then, all nice and sealed," the man said, rolling the scroll. "You'll get your copy of the document in two to three weeks." 

Erasmus nodded. "Yes, yes. When will the betrothal go into effect?"

"Oh, immediately. Miss Granger will be notified of your selection this evening I imagine. Or rather, at the morning meal, as she is still at Hogwarts."

"Still at Hogwarts?" 

"Oh yes," the Ministry's man said, not seeming to notice the sharpness of Erasmus' tone. "She's of age, have no fear. We truth test for that. Something about a Time-Turner, from what I gather, but I don't know the details."

"That will complicate things," Erasmus said. 

"Oh, I'm sure that your son is up to the challenge."

"Of course he is! He is a Snape, after all."

"That he has. Besides, it seems right handy, to me, them being at the same place and all. Right handy indeed." He placed his hat on his head and stuck the scroll into a pocket of his robes. "I'll be on my way, then."

Erasmus waved him out, only relaxing after the door had shut behind the man. His eyes slid shut. The deed was done, and there was no going back now. He wondered if he had time to remove himself to the country house before all manner of hell broke loose. 

"Hermione Granger, are you completely insane?" 

Hermione lifted her head from her Advanced Transfigurations text and blinked. "What are you talking about?"  
"This!" Ginny waved a scroll in the air.

Hermione frowned and took the scroll, not remembering what it was until she saw the thick wax of the Ministry stamp that held it shut. "Oh, that."

"Oh, that, she says. You put yourself on that bloody list, didn't you?"

"If you're referring to the Betrothal List then yes I did. Why?"  
"Good Lord, Hermione. What if you get chosen?" Ginny flopped onto Hermione's bed. "What am I saying, of Course you'll be chosen. You're bloody brilliant."

"Thanks, but… I don't see the problem. If I hadn't wanted to be chosen, I wouldn't have signed up, of course."

"Why on Earth did you sign up, then?"  
Hermione fell silent. She looked down at her toes, nails painted pink in muggle fashion. "You've never had to feel like an outsider, Ginny, not like I do. My parents don't understand this world. They think I'm going to go home and fall back into their plans. Dentistry school, an apprenticeship in their practice. But… I don't want to."

"So? You didn't to do this!" Ginny waved the scroll around. "You could just get a job in the wizarding world. With your grades that would be no problem at all."

"I don't want to be alone, that's what it boils down to," Hermione said, taking the scroll from the girl's fingers. "I want to be a part of this world. Of your world."

Ginny sat up. "This isn't being part of the wizarding world—this is being a broodmare."

Hermione stashed the scroll in her desk drawer. "I examined the law most thoroughly. I have no obligation to get pregnant—only to get married. I did my research. This wasn't a whim, I assure you."

"I'm not saying you didn't but… well… do you understand that you will be completely under the power of your husband? And I mean, completely. If he tells you that you will have children, you are magically bound to have a child!"

"That's insane," Hermione said. "Totally impossible."

"No, that's how our society works," Ginny said. She stood up to pace.

Hermione flopped onto the bed. "What do you mean?" She was beginning to feel a deep sense of … was that panic? 

"Look, you haven't lived in this world for so long. No one expects you to understand it. That's why this law is so wrong!" She smacked her fist in her hand. "The older families, though, the Pureblooded families, they are quite firm about Tradition and living the Old Ways. Though I don't like to think about it, as a daughter I have the obligation to obey my father in all things—and I will have that same obligation to my husband, should I marry a wizard."

"But your father would never…"

"No, he wouldn't. But with this contract you've put yourself up for anyone to choose from—and not all wizards are like my father!"

"Good Lord," Hermione whispered.

"Exactly." Ginny said. "My mother's been raging at that law ever since it was proposed just because of this."

"I… I didn't know." 

Ginny sat down beside her, and Hermione turned into her younger friend's arms.            

"Anyone could…"

"Yes," Ginny said. "Any Pureblooded wizard can pick you—for himself, or for another wizard in his family, no matter how distant."

"There wasn't a way out," Hermione said. "I… I thought so long about it and… I never considered."

"Shush…" Ginny tightened her grip and Hermione hung on grimly. 

"Talk to your father," Hermione said. "Your family is Pureblooded. He can pick me."

Ginny reared back. "What?"

Hermione stood and began stalking feverishly from one side of the room to the other. "Owl him now. Tonight. Tell him to get that list however he can and pick me. Soon. I don't care. Marrying Ron would be better than … they could take me away from here. Away from the school."

A chill slithered down her spine. "Get Pig. Please, Ginny. Help me!"

"I… I don't know, Hermione. I mean, Ron has a girlfriend now."

Hermione bared her teeth, feeling truly lost for the first time in her life. "I don't care if I have to marry Percy, Ginny. Percy wouldn't lock me in a cellar and torture me. I was thinking of Blaise Zambini and your brother when I signed this, but…"  
"But?"

"Draco. Goyle."

She had the satisfaction of watching the blood drain away from Ginny's face, not that it made up for her complete dismay at her stupidity. How could she have made such a critical error?   
 "I… I'm going. Now." Ginny suited action. The door to the dormitory banged shut behind her. 

Hermione shivered in her thick robes and stared at the desk drawer she had so carelessly shoved the scroll into. 

"What have I done?"

"I'm concerned about Miss Granger," Minerva said, leaning over Severus' plate to converse with the Headmaster who was, due to some trick of seating, sitting on his other side. "There have been some awful rumors going around. Have you had a chance to talk with the girl?"

Albus Dumbledore shook his head. "She has not come to me with any problem."

"It's true then, that she signed the Betrothal Contact?"

"I'm afraid it is," Albus said. 

"As hideous a prospect as it is to have Miss Granger enlisting as a broodmare to for the wizarding population, I would appreciate it if you would take this discussion elsewhere," Severus bit out. 

Minerva and Albus both stared at him. 

"I can't believe you," Minerva said, "even a Slytherin must realize what talent, what…" 

"Was she forced to sign the Contract?" Severus asked. He laid down his silverware and gave her his full attention. 

"No one could get Hermione to sign something against her will," Minerva said. "She's quite the Gryffindor when she digs her heels in."

"Quite," Severus said. "Then she signed of her own will. It is a magical Contract, of course. There's not much to be done about it." 

"But…"  
"I'm afraid he's right, Minerva. Miss Granger has made her own decision. I just

hope that she is given time to finish her schooling. She is such a promising student."

"She really is," Minerva nodded her head and applied herself to her meal.

Severus contemplated a Potions classroom without the ubiquitous Miss Granger. Though she didn't raise her hand at every question—as she once had—she was indeed a very promising pupil. "I'll have to give up testing the potions," he muttered.

"You'll still have young Malfoy," Albus said. "You've given him top marks for years. He must be a wonderful brewer."

"But not as good as Miss Granger," Severus said shortly. "Malfoy may be… tempted… should his work be used with regularity. It may become dangerous."

"And Miss Granger wouldn't?" Albus asked.

"Miss Granger is most trustworthy," Minerva offered. "Perhaps I could speak with her… her husband."

Stark silence fell across the three at the table. 

"She's only a seventh-year," Severus said. "She won't be of age until…?" He looked to Albus.

"She's of age now," Albus said. "She used a Time-Turner for some time, I'm afraid."

Minerva tossed down her napkin. "There's no hope for her then."

"Now, now, there's always hope," Albus said. "I believe Miss Weasley has already petitioned her father on Miss Granger's behalf."

"What is he going to do? The Betrothal Contract does not fall under the auspices of the Department of Muggle Artefacts." 

"I think Miss Granger has it in her head to marry one of the Weasley boys, actually," Albus said.

"Wonderful solution!" Minerva said. 

Their discussion was interrupted by the muted mumble that swept through the students, who were all looking toward the ceiling of the Great Hall.

"What the?" 

"Ah, a mail delivery," Albus said, beaming. "How delightful!"

The owl swooped from the shadows, huge and intimidating. It was grey, and clutched in its beak was a letter. Severus watched it wing toward the head table. His gut clenched as it settled before him, letter outstretched. 

"My, my," Albus said.

Even Minerva seemed a bit concerned. Instead of going back to her meal she watched him closely as he took the letter, gave the owl a bit of his beef on a plate, and opened the envelope. 

He read his father's short note with growing dread—and horror. His hands shook as he stuck the letter back in its envelope. "It seems," he said as he pushed his plate away, all hunger turned to dust in his mouth, "that Miss Granger will finish her year at Hogwarts after all."

"Oh?" Minerva asked. "And what has that letter to do with such a decision?"

"Everything," Severus said shortly, "as I have just been named her betrothed." He spit the last words and shoved his chair back from the table. "If you will excuse me, I believe I will go find my father—for a chat."


	2. Chapter Two

TWO

The Malfoy manor was not a favorite destination for anyone. A dark miasma hung over it, shadows of evil and—if one listened to persistent rumors—death. The Ministry's appointed Betrothal Contract contact shivered in the front receiving room. He crouched his small frame close to the fire but noticed no perceptible warmth from the burgeoning flames. 

The door shut, almost inaudibly.

 He turned to face Lucius Malfoy. 

"Ah, finally." The smooth, cold face contorted into an exaggerated grimace. The Ministry man shivered. It was all too easy to imagine this man doing the worst. 

"Well? Where is the list?" 

He almost dropped the scroll as he handed it over.

Malfoy unrolled the parchment smoothly. He sat upright, the very definition of aristocratic expectancy. Somehow, though, there had been a much truer sense of greatness about Lord Snape, the man thought. Though not a very popular man, by any means, his Lordship had at least welcomed him with warmth and treated him as a wizard, not a house-elf.

"What is this?" Malfoy's voice, cold and imperious, cut through the man's musing.

"What's what?" 

"Where is Granger? She was on this list."

"Oh. Hermione Granger. She was chosen this morning, actually." He smiled, tucking his hands into the pockets of his robe to hide their tremor. "She must be quite popular."

"Hellfire!" Malfoy launched the scroll into the fire.

"Hey!" A hasty spell called the singed scroll back to the man's hands. He blew on it, examining the parchment for damage. "That's Ministry Property, Mister Malfoy."

"Lord Malfoy," Lucius correct in icy tones.

"L…Lord Malfoy," the man stammered. "Um."

"Oh get out!"

"Yes, did you want me to leave…" He hesitated, not wanting to leave the list out of his sight.

"Get out! I'll find my son a bride without your be-damned list!" 

"Y.. Yes, Mister… Lord Malfoy!"

He ran out the front door. He had to shake himself three times before he felt capable of apparating, and even then he was teased by his colleagues for years about his prompt collapse to the floor after he arrived back at the Ministry. 

Severus was no better off for being unable to find his father—he would have been worried, had he not known the old wizard so well. Erasmus had probably taken off to some unplottable location in an attempt to head off the discussion that Severus was so determined to begin.

"The man is insane," he told Albus later, in the sanctity of his rooms. "Selecting a bride for me." He shook his head. 

"He wants your happiness," Albus said.

"He wants me to go insane." Severus glared into the flames in the hearth. "And why in the name of Merlin did he choose Her?"

"Miss Granger is a very smart young woman. One might even say brilliant."

Severus rolled his eyes.

"She asked me if she could use some quotes from her end-of-term reports last year. I didn't consider what she might use them for, but I did give her permission."

"And?"

"I believe you referred to her skills in Potions as 'quite proficient.' While such a comment pales beside the praise Miss Granger receives from her other teachers, she may have felt it .. well-rounded of her to include it."

"If my father saw that…." Severus buried his face in his hands. 

"Your father does know your tendency for understatement," Albus agreed. "It may have been a factor in his decision."

"He'll think her a goddess of the cauldron," Severus said, "that's what he'll think." 

"I never did understand why you gave Malfoy higher marks last term. You described his work as 'needing improvement,' and," Albus furrowed his brow and fended off Severus' attempts to explain Draco's superior knowledge. "Didn't you ask me to bill Lucius for the entire set of standard ingredients—twice over, if I'm not mistaken—because of his 'heavy usage'?" 

Severus sneered half-heartedly.

"Well," Albus said, getting to his feet. "I've got to get back to my office. Have a meeting scheduled with Pomfrey regarding her budget for the year. You will be available to brew her list of required potions for the term, correct?" 

"It depends on if I can get my father to break this Betrothal Contract actually. I may be buried in research on how to do it myself if I can't unearth the man."

"I'll tell her yes, then," the Headmaster said. He nodded fondly, patted Severus' shoulder, and left the room.

Severus closed his eyes and leaned his head back against his chair. "Betrothed," he muttered. "To Hermione 'know-it-all' Granger. What else can go wrong?"

Hermione received her copy of the Betrothal Contract back by owl-post at the Morning Meal. 

Snape was conspicuously absent, which started off her day rather nicely, given that she was dreading the upcoming Advanced Potions class where, it was sure to bet, there would be a test on the reading she was supposed to have done the night before. She had been too upset to comprehend the assigned chapter, though she had read it through three times over. 

When the owls started their descent she looked upward hopefully, sighing in relief when she spotted Pig among the incoming flock. 

The small owl darted straight-away to Ginny's plate, dropping the letter neatly in the girl's lap. Hermione shivered with anticipation when she recognized Mrs. Weasley's handwriting on the envelope. 

Ginny's eyes met hers. Though shadowed, they were excited. Hermione understood perfectly. She didn't want to marry Ron any more than she wanted to marry Percy—she had been raised to believe in love. She had given it up thinking that she would marry some man who Wanted a wife, not a boy forced into it to save her from a fate most unwanted.

Ginny's mouth moved as she read the note, but not enough that Hermione knew what she was reading. Heart in her mouth, she didn't notice the owl hovering above her until it dropped the wrapped scroll on her head. 

"Ouch!" She rubbed the sore spot, and bent to retrieve the scroll. It was stamped with the Ministry's seal. 

Her eyes met Ginny's once more. Wide, fearful, Hermione knew that the news was not good. 

Her fingers shook as she broke the seal. She fumbled the scroll as she unrolled it, finally gathering the attention of her tablemates with her pathetic attempts. She stopped breathing when she read the contents.

"Hermione! Please, hold up!" 

Severus ducked out of the way from the running girls, sinking into the shadows. He watched Hermione Granger slow to a halt and lean against the windows at the corner. 

"Hermione. I know what's happened." The Weasley chit. He should have known. "You've been matched already. That's what my father wrote. Who is it?"

Why did it hurt him to see the tears coursing down the girl's face? It shouldn't. She was his betrothed, but also his student. A loud, obnoxious girl who had very bad taste in friends. Still… it hurt that she cried so over her fate. Was he that bad a man, for all his cultivated coldness? 

Could it be possible that he wanted her to be agreeable to the match?

"Oh Ginny!" Granger fell into the red-haired girl's arms. 

"It's horrible isn't it?" By now even Weasley as in tears. What was it with women? 

Granger lifted her head, and Severus was shocked into total immobility by what he saw there. Hermione Granger was smiling.

"Hermione?"

Hermione wiped the tears away with unsteady hands. "It's wonderful, Ginny. Better even than Ron or Percy!" 

Ginny twisted her head. "I don't know whether to be glad to upset about that comment, actually."

"It's an impossible match, though. Totally impossible. It's perfect!" 

"What are you talking about?"  
"It's Snape, Ginny!"

"Snape?"

"Yes, yes. Don't you see! I'll get to stay in school, and Dumbledore will make sure that he doesn't lock me in the dungeons and starve me. Well, while I'm a student at least."

"Um… Hermione…."

Hermione stared out the beveled windows. The sun was shining over the Quidditch pitch in the far distance, and her mood seemed to hover with the clouds floating high overhead. It was perfect. Snape would not be a man would ever have seen herself married to, but she knew him. He was honorable, though he might have a distinct bias for his Slytherins. She could work with him, at least. 

"I know, I know," she said. "Old Ways and all. It's Snape, though. He doesn't need anyone—let alone Me! Can you even imagine it? But it's an unbreakable Contract! He's stuck with me for the rest of his life!"  
"And on that note, I believe we have some issues to discuss," Professor Snape said, tongue as acidic as it had ever been.

Hermione turned slowly, trying frantically to remember what she had been saying. Ginny shrugged apologetically and slunk away. 

"Miss Weasley," Professor Snape said, not taking his eyes away from Hermione's. "This will remain between us—or Gryffindor will most certainly be last in year-end totals, and you will be discovering new levels of disgust as you scrub every bathroom in this Castle. Do you understand me?"

"Yes, Professor," Ginny said.

She fled in a whirl of school robes. 

"Now."

"Professor. I'm sorry, I didn't mean to…"

"You most certainly did mean to. But for now—Hush. There are too many ears here for my comfort."

He led her, predictably enough, to the dungeons. The walls were especially damp, running with moisture. Hermione heard the echoing laughter from the well-hidden Slytherin Dormitory, but Snape pulled her past the laughter and down into a corridor so dark that she would not have ventured there on her own, no matter what the reason.

"In," he said, pushing her unceremoniously toward a blank wall. 

She fell past the illusion and stumbled into yet another corridor. This one, at least, had torches stationed at regular intervals so that she could see. Snape passed her, striding up the corridor smartly. 

He halted at a hewn door and murmured at it. It opened obligingly. 

"These are my private rooms," he said.

She could have guessed. It wasn't a large room by any means, but it was lived-in, for all its coldness. Books were strewn about and the remains of a fire burned in the hearth. Snape frowned and, with a heavy sigh, shifted a chair back toward the fire. The house-elves, she surmised, had already been in to clean. 

"Sit."  
She sat. Uncomfortable, she folded her hands on her lap and wove her fingers together. 

"As you have guessed, this was not my choice," he started. "However, that does not dismiss it."

"I never thought it would!"

"Miss Granger, please contain your comments!" Snape frowned. "Nevertheless, this is my father's doing. Yes, the Snapes do follow the Old Ways. I have hopes, however, of illuminating this issue." 

"You're going to talk to your father?"

"Exactly. He is not an easy man to find, though, especially when he does not want to be found."

"What do you mean? He's run off?"

"Not that it is your place to speak of it."

"It certainly is my place! I'm … I'm going to be your wife."

"Not if I can help it. Now," he turned to the door, "if you would leave. I believe you have a Potions quiz in a little over ten minutes."

"That's it?"  
"What do you expect, a confession of undying love?"

"We didn't discuss anything!"

"Miss Granger!" He snapped. "How much more is there? You do not want this… betrothal. I do not either. I am endeavoring to obtain us both our freedom. That's all there is!"  
"Well… what happens next?"  
"Next?" His dark eyes were unreadable. He stalked right up beside her. She had never been so close to him, even in Potions class. "Next you try your hardest to stay out of trouble, that's what! You do realize that this is your fault? Had you not signed onto that bedamned list…"  
"You'd be free?" Hermione sniffed. She wasn't going to cry. Years before she had sworn that she would never cry in front of him again, and by god she'd keep that vow. 

"Yes," he said harshly. "I would be free. Alone. Not betrothed," he spat the word, "and certainly not to a sniveling Muggle-born wench!" 

Hermione felt her lungs freeze and her stomach wrench. "You're awful," she said, voice shaking terribly. "Truly awful."

He just glared at her, and her knees felt the heat of his gaze. She turned, wobbling, until she could put her hand on the knob to steady herself. "I didn't want this to happen, Professor. If I could take it back, I would. But… no matter how mean you are," she turned around defiantly. "I'm glad it's you. Because as hateful as you can be, I know that you're still Professor Snape." 

She left without another word.


	3. Chapter Three

THREE

"Oh, it's no use!" 

Hermione slammed the thick book shut and waved away the cloud of dust that erupted from between its pages. She stared at the golden-tinted title, then sighed and flipped onto her back, letting her legs dangle from the edge of the bed. The shadowed stones that formed the ceiling of the room offered nothing to distract her and, unable to focus on anything truly worthwhile, she fell into brooding.

It had seemed so simple, the Muggle-born Marriage Contract that she, like, she presumed, all other muggle-born witches, had received in the first days of her seventh year at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. Arriving hot on the heels of her parents' three-page epistle espousing dentistry and art as potential fields of post-Hogwarts study, Hermione had latched onto the idea of a future in the wizarding world with ease. The final decision had taken longer, days of thought and pondering between assignments and mail forwarded by owl hawking brightly-colored classrooms and efficiently-manned study stations by the sea. In the end, it was her mother's inclusion of a single pamphlet that tipped the scales. Or, more correctly, the single comment scrawled over the pamphlet's appallingly effusive student praises. 

'The girls here always marry doctors or military men. Wouldn't that be grand? Don't tell your Da!' 

The next morning saw her, jaw out-thrust in dogged determination, sending the signed scroll on its way to the appropriate Ministry department. Right after, she had tossed every last Uni pamphlet in the bin. 

"No need for those," she had said, feeling quite satisfied. Then something had happened…. 

Hermione squinched her eyes tight and tried to remember what momentous occasion had interrupted her private celebration, driving the Contract and the law entirely from her mind. She kicked her sock-covered feet and stared at the still-unyielding ceiling. Again, no lucid response echoed from the shadowed stones. Hermione heaved a sigh and flipped restlessly onto her stomach, her eyes latching onto the thickness of the book that still rested on the end of the bed. She supposed that the what didn't really matter, not anymore, not half a year later and not when the papers were signed and sealed as well as delivered. It had to have been another of Harry and Ron's mad schemes or whatnot, anyway. Her life was never interrupted by things of the sane or sensible persuasion. 

She sighed again, and flipped the gold-lettered book open once more. She leafed through the heavy, handwritten pages to the page she had left off reading. It was the third page of a twenty page treatise exploring the merchant-friendly aspects of willow bark. She had already read page three twice, but when she scanned the thin, crabbed lines she found that she didn't remember reading any of the text. A flip back to the beginning of the essay, then to the essay before the willow bark treatise (the book being a rather old volume of essays about various medicinal herbs that she had found buried in the library) proved that she had been paying no attention whatsoever to her reading for the better part of the evening. 

With low growl, she gave up and put the book away.

"The nerve of that man," she huffed. "Only *he* could render me completely unable to work." 

She didn't want to ponder the man, or the truth of the statement, that blustery November afternoon being only the second time that she could remember being reduced to such a state—the other being the evening after the infamous Teeth Comment, a quip she still found to be in poor taste and poorer character. So she stood, swatted at the grey-dusted black school robes until they were a bit less dusty, and stepped into her shoes. Perhaps the Gryffindors gathered in the Common Room would be somewhat diverting.

Alas, she found it wasn't to be. She had no more than stepped off of the staircase's twists than she heard the first over-loud whispers. 

"Ginny, what did she say?" 

That was Ron. Hermione grimaced. Though a caring friend, Ron was a bit dense and a tad too light in the lips to be a comfortable confessional. Even now, in the middle of his last year at Hogwarts, he had still not conquered the snap temper that all too often left him with foot brushing tonsil, himself remaining all too often completely oblivious to his erstwhile lapse.

Thankfully, Ginny was aware of her brother's failings. 

"Leave off, Ron," she said testily. Hermione heard the crinkle of parchment and the scratch of a quill that badly needed a proper trim. "It's none of your business."

"Look, we just want to know what's going on." Harry said. He sounded reasonable. Hermione pursed her lips, knowing better. Harry was rarely reasonable. Though she still called him friend, she had seen the change from green boy to moody, angry young man. 

"Why don't you ask me if you want to know," she said, stepping out of the shadows of the stairway and into the cheery crimson and gold warmth of the common room. The boys had the grace to look ashamed, though she noted that no trace of red graced their cheeks. 

"Hermione!" 

She cocked on eyebrow in question, and strode toward the table the three crouched around. 

Harry's eyes watched her intently, she noticed. They were shadowed and turbulent. Ron's gaze darted around the room endlessly, seeking something new, something inviting. Ginny spared her a quick smile before bending back over the text she held in her lap and resuming her work.

"Well, 'Mione, we just thought you wouldn't tell us anything."

"Well," she perched on hand on her hip. "You're right."

 "What if it's important?"

"Do you honestly believe that you must be involved in everything?" Hermione asked. Boys. "This isn't your business, it's mine, and mine alone thank-you-very-much." She turned her back on them, stalking toward the portrait hole and the outer corridors, suddenly incensed. 

Did they have to pry into every single facet of her life? When exactly had it become their right to know every single tiny bit about her—as long as it was something juicy, something wicked, or something that benefited them, of course? Neither Harry nor Ron seemed particularly interested in learning the details of how she had finally managed to tame her hair, or that she had followed in the footsteps of the Marauders and become an off-the-books animagus, had they? Okay, so they probably would have found plenty of uses for the animagi bit, had she bothered to tell them. Seeing as she didn't want to be stuck creeping around the castle in a magical animal disguise, waiting to be found and set in detention for eternity (as well as being scrutinized with the Ministry and Professor McGonagall for not reporting her successful transformation) she had let that information rest solely in her own brain. Thank goodness. 

"Look, we're just concerned. You're not acting yourself is all," Ron said, Harry a silent shadow at his shoulder. His hand snaked out, latching onto her shoulder. 

Hermione shrugged off his grasp and slipped out the portrait hole. She paused, and turned around. No matter their very male limitations, they were still her friends. "It's nothing earth-shattering," well, not to them, she told herself, "and it's nothing that you can help me with at all. I… I just don't want to talk about it right now," she said. 

Ron opened his mouth to argue. Harry's eyes changed, losing their ferocious heat, chilling until she couldn't even recognize the embers of their friendship in his gaze. She shivered. 

"She'll talk to us when she's ready," Harry said. 

Ron glanced at his long-time friend, then nodded. Ginny ducked into view, smiled briefly, and disappeared. Hermione watched impassively as the portrait fell shut again, the pink lady shifting briefly within her frame, handkerchief held to her nose.

First, she decided, heading down the corridor and pretending not to notice the looks that were slanted her way by passing students, she had to find out more about the customs Ginny had mentioned. Then, she decided abruptly, her stride lengthening with determined purpose, she was going to write a cautionary letter on the evils of the Muggleborn Contract and send a copy to every muggle-born witch she could find. 

Hermione didn't even notice that the smile spreading across her face was prompting many of the other students to whisper fearfully among themselves about N.E.W.T exhaustion—not that she would have cared if she did.

*    *    *

The Potions classroom, where tonight Severus was holding detention for two troublesome young Gryffindors who seemed to believe that Potions was a class where one worked on one's overdue Transfiguration homework and made rude noises at the precise moment that one's neighbor was adding the crucial ingredient to his cauldron, simply because, in the words of the elder of the two First Year students, 'it was funny,' was littered with owl feathers. The large, sleek desk that normally held only the minimum of parchment, quill and ink, all neatly put away by strict routine, was littered with envelopes, each sealed with thick green wax and stamped with an identical embossed letter 'S.' 

All returned, Undeliverable. 

He despised his father's experimentation, especially the echo-location charm he was so fond of using when he did not want to be found. Only Erasmus Snape would have the gall to send Official Mail Owls bouncing all over the continent in order to avoid his own son! Even the latest strategy of bombarding the man with messages had, clearly, failed.

Severus smeared a bit of Wound-Heal on the back of his hand, gritting his teeth at the sting that seemed to arrow straight into his bones. Wretched beasts, the school owls, and totally lacking in discipline. He sent a dark look toward the cauldron-scrubbing Gryffindors, silently daring them to make some comment and give him the opportunity to reap something worthwhile from the evening in the form of a huge point deduction for disrespect of a faculty member—though he rather thought that deducting points for sheer stupidity may be a bit more accurate in the face of these determined trouble-makers. Didn't they realize by now that he didn't find their behavior at all amusing? 

A half-muffled snort of laughter put paid to that belief. 

Severus tucked a lank lock of hair behind his ear and settled into the seat behind his desk, behind the overflowing parchments and feathers and the beastly smell of owl that lingered amidst the Undeliverables. The laughter—much less muffled this time—did nothing to improve his precarious temper.

He was going to have to crack down on the first years, and damn Albus if he had a single word to say about it.

"Professor?"  
Severus closed his eyes. Were he someone more lax in demeanor, Hagrid, say, or Flitwick perhaps, he would no doubt be banging his skull soundly on a handy solid surface. As Head of House Slytherin, and further to the point a Snape, such irrational behavior was, to him, beyond the pale. 

"Professor?" The voice was higher-pitched, and accompanied by an alarming rustle. The eye-level pile of parchments began to sway and shift, feathers floated free from their moorings upon invisible currents. An aura of impending doom settled squarely on Severus' shoulders. Before he could say a word, or stand, or even mutter a charm to steady the overflowing contents of his desk, the pile collapsed into a morass of rolling, sprawling, feather-littered junk. One hundred thirty two identical parchments, stamped with identical sealing wax of a thick emerald green, went cascading over the sides of the desk like a wild crowd of lemmings seeking their biological destiny. 

"Oh, there you are," the boy murmured, grinning as he surveyed the destruction. 

"Get out."

The boy tilted his head. 

"Did you not understand? Vacate my office!"

"But…"

"Leave. Now!" 

The boy had the audacity to arch a brow in rebuke before pinching his lips together and turning on one heel. The door thunked once before he reached it; the other boy had already retreated. 

Severus rose from his seat, slapping at the scrolls, and stared in fury at the child. "Fifty points for disrespect!" He yelled, just as the door slammed shut. 

He drew his wand, preparing to incinerate them all on the spot, useless things that they were, when one caught his eye. The seal on it, originally bright emerald green, had changed color. It was now hazily gray. Severus smiled. 

He had found his father.

*     *     *

"She's a threat."

Lucius Malfoy stared into the mirror, into his own icy eyes, and wished that he had planned for this circumstance. Nothing could have hinted at the Wild Card that had stepped into his little drama, though—no one could have predicted…. 

He slammed his fist down on mantel, rattling the vases and upsetting those who dwelled in the elegantly framed photos that perched there. It would have been so simple. Marry her to Draco and bring her under his control. She could mold away in the bowels of the mansion for all he cared—once the threat she presented to the Wizarding World was ended once and for all.

He sneered, and turned away. Once it had been simple. If a muggle-born witch or wizard demonstrated such power, it was wiped away. No questions, no comments, no arguing. Simple, effective prevention.

There had been no threat of Wizard revelation, no upheaval in the ancient system that supported the Wizarding World, no worries about what some dunderheaded, wrongly-raised muggle-born with too much power for her own good might decide to do next. 

Now there were laws and regulations and Protection of Muggle-born Witches and Wizards Acts to hamper Necessary Action. Wizarding society was going to hell… and there was so very little he could do about it!

The scion of the Malfoy line flung himself into a leather-upholstered chair and called the Marriage List to him with an impatient flick of his wand. He opened the scroll, the parchment rolling over his legs and onto the floor in a flood of flowing, carefully written names. Muggle-born witches all. Lucius allowed himself a brief smile. The Muggle-born Marriage Act had worked so well—and he had only placed the lightest of compulsion spells on the outgoing announcements addressed to young witches! That was all well and good, though. The thought of aging muggle-born witches signing up by the droves was a ghastly one indeed. Unnecessary as well, since the elder witches had all been properly trained up in the ways of the Wizarding World, long before the evolution of these thrice-damned Acts and regulations. 

The names held no interest for him, from Whitney Angelhoff to Zoey Zimfeld, none held the same awful possibilities that slept within Hogwarts' Head Girl. None had the scheming intelligence, the twisted promise that heralded such trouble unless she was firmly taken under thumb.

His finger touched a name idly. The file opened, revealing photo and statistics. 

At least she would belong to Severus. The elder Snapes' erratic behavior—the man supported the recent changes in the Ministry at least as often as he denounced them—would have sent him into a panic, he doubted it not. But with Serverus… there was still an element of chaos there, for Hogwarts' Potions Master was under no one's control save his own, but a carefully-directed conversation may have far-reaching affects. Lucius decided then and there to schedule dinner with the elusive Snape as soon as possible. 

Janie Randall was moderately gifted, and her personal section seemed strongly slanted toward observance of Muggle Rights. He idly marked her name for further retention. 

He may have missed the worst offender of Muggle Rights, but that didn't mean that no other witch should worry him. And Draco? Well, any muggle-born would perish soon enough, and then Draco could marry a proper mate, in due time with the proper Wizardly trappings and in grand style. The Malfoy line would then be continued in an efficient fashion.

He rolled the scroll up some, and kept reading, ticking names as he read the. Icy eyes were locked on the parchment well into the night.

*    *    *


	4. Chapter Four

Chapter Four

"Miss Granger, it's almost curfew."

Hermione nodded and smiled at Madam Pince, cradling her head in her hands as soon as the librarian was out of sight. She glared at the blank parchment in disgust. It seemed that rage and annoyance were two states of mind which made one unfit for… well… everything she had tried to do in the past day. How was she ever going to be able to get through classes, or worse, NEWTS? 

She had scrounged the paper, quill and spare inkwell off of a Ravenclaw girl who had left two hours before. Hermione rather suspected that the girl's willingness to abandon her supplies was more due to a desperate need for escape than to pure generosity, but she wasn't going to quibble about details. She just hoped that some of her comments had made an impression on the younger muggle-born girl. 

The torches began to dim around her, settling into their muted nightly glow like Hermione wished she could settle into a comforting reread of _Hogwarts: A History_. Whispers sounded across the room and chairs began to slide as the last few stragglers began to make their way back to the dormitories. Hermione heard smothered, cut-off laughter from the outer corridor when the door was opened. The blank parchment on the desk before her shifted with the breeze of the door closing again. 

She toyed with the parchment, knowing that she should stand up and get moving. She had to check to make sure all the young Gryffindors were in the dormitories. She hoped that Harry would find it in his heart to stay abed tonight, though she didn't think he considered her responsibilities as Head Girl at all when he indulged in his nocturnal wanderings. Hermione felt a headache beginning to build even as she thought about it. Only last week she had caught him slipping by her. Had she not recognized the rather grimy heel of his muggle-style sneakers on the disembodied foot, she might very well have called the whole school, or at least Professor McGonagall, down on his head. She didn't want to consider how many times he had successfully eluded her. Didn't he realize that as Head Girl she was responsible for his safety?

"Miss Granger?"

Hermione managed a wan smile for Madam Pince, gathered her borrowed accoutrements, and slid out into the hallway. She heard the door fall shut behind her, a definitive sound that echoed down the flicker-lit stone corridors as she began to make her way back to the Gryffindor Dormitory. 

She was aware of a burning anger kindling deep in her heart, an anger that made her upset over the House-Elves look pale and shriveled in comparison. It wasn't focused, like the driving need to fix things that had led to the creation of S.P.E.W., but the fury was stronger for all its scattered heat. 

She was angry at the Ministry. She was angry at herself. She was angry at Ginny and Ron and any other number of people who could have stepped in and reminded her that Wizarding culture and Modern British culture had more than the simple low valleys of difference. Anything, she thought blackly as she waited for a staircase to position itself, would have been better than falling smack down into the endless crevasse of cultural nuance. 

The worst was, she should have seen the intricacy of the Contract. She had been living in the Wizarding world for seven years after all, and she had learned early that when magic was involved the concept of "reasonable" flew right out the window. Everything, she groused, gripping the banister solidly as the staircase she was on shifted again—this time aligning her, thankfully, with the proper hallway—had to be so… complicated. 

In the muggle world, a marriage was a marriage. A meal was a meal. The Wizarding world changed… obliterated… all the rules. 

And now she was stuck with ancient, greasy, snarky Snape as a future husband. The thought made her furious, and she barely managed to keep from grinding her teeth together in sheer frustration. 

"At least," she growled, slowing what had become a ground-swallowing stalk to allow a trio of Gryffindor first years to giggle inanely and try to convince the Pink Lady that they were indeed Gryffindors, "it's not Crabbe. Or Goyle. Or," here she swallowed back yet another stomach-burning swell of anger, "Malfoy." Snape, though older than she, meaner than blood-mad vampire and lacking in personal hygiene department, had never tried to rape her or beat her or, as far as she knew, anyone else. Perhaps, she also acknowledged, the fact that he was a teacher gave her an innate feeling of 'safety,' though the idea was completely ludicrous. 

She suddenly had a burning need to review the Contract. What exactly had she signed—and why were the specifics of it blurry when she tried to remember? 

The little first years finally remembered the password and, with a loud humph and speaking flutter of her fan, the Pink Lady swung open to allow them to clamber in. Hermione followed, giving the portrait a slight smile in thanks. 

Ignoring her classmates who tried to catch her attention, she headed up to her room to dig out her copy of the scroll. 

* * *

Severus was—finally—leaving chambers when the fire flared and sparked, catching his attention. He paused, hand on the latch. He didn't want to turn around. Nothing good ever came by floo. 

"Severus?" The voice confirmed the theory. 

Severus arranged his face into a more pleasant arrangement—or at least an expression that didn't reveal how anxious he was to be gone—and stepped back into the room. The heavy door closed without a sound behind him.

"Lucius!" 

"Oh. Did I catch you on the way out?"

Severus undid the tie of his traveling cloak. "On the way in, actually."

"Ah, I do have impeccable timing," Lucius said. He smiled, but the expression was more a contortion of lips than a conveyance of actual feeling. Lucius' eyes remained darkly cold. 

"What are you flooing me about tonight," Severus asked. He shifted a chair an inch more toward the fire and sat in it. The heat from the crackling flames warmed his kneecaps almost too well, but he refused to sprawl inelegantly before Malfoy's projected head. 

"About your betrothed, actually."

Severus steepled his fingers in his lap. "What about her?"

Malfoy lifted his chin. Pale hair shifted around his face and slid down what Severus could see of his shoulders. Bloody supercilious bastard. 

"Hogwarts' Head Girl? For shame, Severus, consorting with a mudblood." The pretence of civility dropped for one second. Unguarded and unmasked, Lucius was far from the embodiment of masculine grace that he played at being. His eyes were narrowed, his nose and mouth twisted by hate. Severus was unmoved. He had long before become accustomed to Lucius' mood shifts and spontaneous spewing of invective. "Does she scream when you touch her?"

Anger bubbled to life deep in the dark corners of Severus' soul. "Do you honestly believe that I had something to do with this… fiasco?" 

"What do you mean by that?" Lucius paused in his sneering diatribe. 

"Precisely what it sounds like. I made no choice of bride, muggle or witch." Severus pinched his nose and stood, flipping his lank dark hair from his face. "Is that all you wanted? I have a pile of fifth-year essays awaiting my attention and, frankly, I have no desire to discuss this insane Contract any more than I already have."

Lucius' face closed up, the mask falling over it again. "It sounds like an interesting tale you have to tell, my friend."

"Interesting?" Severus snorted. "You always found my father's heavy-handed idea of clan leadership to be amusing at the very least. Why should this prove different?"

"Ah." 

Severus, watching Lucius carefully, saw no sign of revelation or sudden comprehension. He hadn't really expected any, given Malfoy's place in the Ministry. Bloody manipulating bastard. 

"I see." 

"I rather thought you would," Severus said dryly. 

Lucuis grew silent. Severus watched his ephemeral head revolving in the slowly dying flames. He became aware of the chill invading the room, a sure sign that nightfall had arrived. If he didn't hurry he would end up tramping across the countryside all night, the way things were going.

"I really must go," he said, standing and flipping a lanky lock of hair back into place, "the fifth years' work is particularly deplorable this year and I suspect I will need the rest of the night to wade through it. Which reminds me," he cast a look over his shoulder toward the Potions classroom, "I think I'm out of red ink."

Lucius smiled. "Ah, Severus," he said fondly, "some things never change, eh? I'll leave you to it, then. Good night—and good luck!"

A hollow pop marked the floo disconnection.

Serverus doused the fire with an impatient wave of his wand and tossed his cloak back over his shoulders. A quick look at the clock told him that it was "two hours till curfew."

He left the room, muttering under his breath. 

* * *

"Ah, my dear, do you see our son?" Erasmus Snape glanced fondly at his late wife's portrait. Proud and austere, Baylina's eyes held a decided twinkle when they met his. Though their marriage had begun as an arrangement of convenience, the happiness that they had found had been the focal point of Erasmus' life. He had hopes that this Betrothal nonsense could be used in the same fashion to bring light into his only son's life. 

He glanced into the dark mirror again, seeing the blurred image of his son as he stalked the halls of the great imposing castle that, of late, he called home. Though Severus' outward appearance hadn't changed, there was a fire to him, an eagerness that Erasmus couldn't remember seeing in many long years. 

Sometimes, he reflected, you just had to shake things up a bit. 

"Can you see?" He asked the portrait.

As always, Baylina remained silent. 

He touched a gentle finger to her smiling lips and turned back to the mirror.

* * *

"It's time to 'fess up," Ginny Weasley said, throwing herself into the Head Girl's room and bolting the door behind her. Now in her sixth year, the youngest Weasley had blossomed into a beauty that quite put her brothers to shame. Once-carroty hair had deepened to burnished auburn and her body had rounded in all the right places. It drove her brothers insane, and Ginny was quite happy that way. It seemed that she had also inherited something of her mother's temperament, however—something that was becoming more and more clear as Ginny underwent the change from teenager to young woman.

"I don't want to talk about it," Hermione said, slightly annoyed at the girl's interruption just as she had been about to sit down and read over the Contract again. She finishing tugging her nightgown over her hips and turned to face her friend. 

Ginny kicked her shoes off by the door and walked on stocking feet to the bed. She threw herself onto the mattress, sprawled facedown for a moment with a half-muffled moan, and then sat up. "You can't get away that easily. What did Snape have to say after he dragged you off?"

"Just that he doesn't want our betrothal, doesn't want to consider marrying me and, oh yes, has no clue where his father—he's the one who instigated this mess, it seems—has run off to." 

Ginny gaped, blinked once, and shifted on the bed. "Do you actually believe that?"

Hermione reached past the younger girl and grabbed her hairbrush from her nightstand. She lifted it to her snarled locks and began to brush. 

"I certainly don't believe that it's a lie," she said. "The only alternative would be Professor Snape actually choosing me from that stupid list—and that doesn't make any sense in the least."

Ginny titled her head, appearing to ponder the thought, but her eyes sparkled and her lips twitched with repressed laughter. "Maybe it does. Maybe all this time spent in Potions has awakened him to your youthful beauty and he's been secretly lusting after you. Maybe after class he has to slip away into his room and …"

"Ginny Weasley! Your mother would be ashamed of you!" Hermione laughed loudly, though she felt her cheeks would catch fire with embarrassment. "Besides, that's the last thing I want to picture!"

"What, Professor Snape jacking off?" She thought for a moment, then shuddered dramatically. "You're right. Horrible images. All black robes and pale skin. D'you think he undresses when he does it?"

Hermione slapped her hands over her ears. Bent double with laughter, she allowed the simple moments of amusement to flow over her. She didn't want to think about how first-hand her knowledge would be all too soon… she didn't want to think about Snape's sexual proclivities at all. 

Their laughter died slowly, coming in burbles and hiccups until they were both collapsed on Hermione's bed in limp heaps. Ginny rolled over onto her side. Hermione watched her carefully, knowing that this was yet another of the precise tactics she had absorbed from her mother over the years. 

Sure enough, Ginny was looking at her quite seriously, though not without clear sympathy and encouragement.

"What's going on, Hermione? Really. Tell me."

And Ginny was just as bloody difficult to distract from her course as Molly Weasley. Hermione spared a brief moment of wonder. How did Ron—or any of the Weasley's—ever manage to live their lives with their Mum around? She would have to employ her own tactics in this instance, though her success rate was far from any useful standard. 

"I need to find out about Wizarding customs, Ginny. Can you help me?"

Ginny blinked, and sat up. Hermione bit her lip. Would the distraction be sufficient? 

"What do you mean? How can I help?"

"I've searched the library for books but found almost nothing." She allowed her lingering frustration to color her tone. "What I really need is a book of comparative culture. Something that will pinpoint the exact differences that I need to know. I can't even figure out what I've gotten myself into without knowing what rights the Snape family is going to have over me!"

Her research had yielded little. Hogwarts' library was your typical school collection in many ways—text books, non-fiction books on a variety of subjects, and even a small Wizarding Fiction selection. The Restricted Section, which Hermione was already familiar with, had spellbooks, higher theory essays, and quite a few ancient but flawed texts of varying reputation. She had even found some muggle writings in that Section—philosophers and poets, mostly, but there was a curious shelf of romantic novels that she still had no explanation for.

She needed genealogy and cultural information—neither of which was very useful to students and had, apparently, been overlooked in stocking the shelves. The Muggle Studies section, her last resort, had been pitiful. A handful of books half a century out of date, a full shelf of instruction manuals to various machines and a assortment of children's books on world mythology seemed to be the extent of it. Unsurprising, considering the limited scope of the Muggle Studies class itself. 

"Well," Ginny scratched her head, "I guess I can try to make some sort of a list. Maybe." She looked doubtful. 

"That might be impossible. I once read a cultural comparison between Britain and Scotland—remarkable, actually, about the differences. You'd never…" She caught Ginny's raised eyebrow and cleared her throat. "The point is that unless you are trained to see the differences, you're not going to notice them. And of course the only witches or wizards who are interested in muggle culture comparisons are the ones in the Ministry's Muggle Relations Departments." She looked at Ginny appraisingly. "I don't guess your father would be willing to nip by and pick up a few training manuals or something?"

"Umm. I wouldn't think so, no. Did you consider owling Krum? Or speaking to Madame Pince?"

"Krum?" She wrinkled her nose. "I don't think he'd be very interested in helping me. I gather he wasn't too pleased when he finally realized I was serious about moving on with my life."

"Oh? I thought you had said it went well."

"Yes, well, he was very polite about it, but then he and his chums apparently went and added my name to a few Eastern European mailing lists. I'm still getting annual Quidditch supplies catalogs in Polish. Things weigh a ton and take three owls to carry. I finally had to lease a box in Hogsmeade and come up with a sorting charm, otherwise I'd be buried in ads for sex aids and garden gnome removal every morning."

"How juvenile!" 

Hermione smiled. "I could see Ron doing the same thing."

"Not if Mum found out about it! You're right though." She heaved a sigh. "Boys!" They shared a moment of silent camaraderie. "And Madame Pince?"

"She said that my best option was to contact the Depatment of Muggle Relations and hope that someone would be moved to help." 

"That's bloody helpful."

"I know. So. Do you have any ancient tomes of Wizarding culture and lore at home? Do you think your Mum would be willing to look around? I wouldn't ask but, well, you're the only pureblood wizard I feel comfortable asking, really. Besides Neville, maybe, but … you know."

Ginny nodded. She stood, rumpling her hair with one hand. "I'll hop off to bed and jot her a note tonight. I'll owl it off tomorrow. I can't say I've ever seen anything, but I never really looked at my Da's shelves. Things have insane titles." Ginny smiled. "You'd probably like them."

Hermione smiled wanly and closed the door after the youngest Weasley. She leaned against the wooden portal and exhaled. Her eyes instantly settled on the slightly-dusty Ministry sealed scroll that was the Marriage Contract. 

It was bloody unfair that just as she sat down to read it her beside alarm started to shrill. 

"Curfew already?" Hermione groaned and buried her head in her hands. In the silence, she could hear the muffled rumble of the collected Gryffindor students as they settled in for the night. 

The scroll, still unread, remained on her bed when she left her room to conduct her first rounds of the night.

* * *


	5. Chapter Five

**Chapter Five – Familial Evasions**

As he had expected, Severus Snape found himself wandering through the dark countryside long after the moon had risen and the air had turned frosty. Muttering angrily, he clutched his cloak more tightly about him and stepped forward. He didn't know where he was or, more importantly, where his father was.

"I know you're out here," he hissed. His breath frosted in the night's chill.

There was no answer, but then, he hadn't really expected any.

Severus shuddered and drew his heavy cloak more tightly about his shoulders.

He was on the grounds of the Snape Country Estate, a manor removed from the bustle of London both Magical and Muggle by miles and miles of dank, dark emptiness.

It would have been, on any other occasion, a simple task. Erasmus Snape had been sending subtle hints along to his only heir for years about filial obligation and family visits. Had it been a winter solstice greeting rather than a betrothal contract that had winged to his lap that Sunday evening Severus knew that he would been welcomed with eagerness at the London townhouse, not left tramping through the English wilderness on what was looking more and more like a wild goose chase. Or, in this case, a wild wizard chase.

"Damn and blast," Severus muttered, stepping over a thick tangle of thorny weeds. His cloak caught and he was forced to grit his teeth and tug at the material. His pulled only served to wrap the wind of the cloth further into the dark and twisting weeds, effectively trapping him to the spot.

Cursing fluently now, Severus pulled out his wand and muttered "lumos". The faint light from the wand's tip revealed little but a jumble of plant growth and a knot of pulled threads.

The spell did not reveal a hidden cottage, a manor, or any other sort of dwelling or shelter where Erasmus Snape could possibly have been hiding.

Yet this was the place that the owl had flown to, the place from when the paper had returned with a gray seal rather than one of green.

Clearly, he was missing something.

He pulled his cloak free of the briars with an irritable tug and stalked forward, squinting. Was that a hint of light he saw up ahead? He blasted a few patches of weeds, ducked a dozen or so low-hanging tree branches, and finally emerged onto a pristine field of grass. Looming over the field was a stately manor home – Erasmus' ancestral manor, to be precise. A manor that, one day, Severus himself may call home.

If, that was, his illustrious father ever actually kicked the bucket. Knowing Erasmus, that wasn't going to occur any time soon. He'd probably wait, in fact, for Severus to break down and buy himself his own well-maintained, well-addressed estate, then kick up his toes, leaving Severus with the expense of two estates. He'd probably even refuse to cross the veil and haunt him for a few centuries to boot.

Severus stalked across the well-maintained, exquisitely cut grass, his wand casting a circle of light before and illuminating his feet. At least he wasn't going to fall into any gnome holes. Between the light and the length of the grass, that was pretty much impossible. He crunched to the door, and thumped the portal twice with his fist, then once more for good measure.

No response.

He gritted his teeth and pounded again.

The door slowly creaked open. Severus inhaled sharply and corralled his thoughts and irritation. It would never do to present a scattered front.

Anticlimactic did not begin to describe the scene beyond – dust-covered hall furnishings, musty-scented air. The lights were dimmed.

On the single uncovered table was propped a glossy black envelope.

Severus grit his teeth, brandished his wand, and flicked.

His father's voice filled the empty hallway:

"Sev, m'boy! I must have just missed you. Off for a bit of fun in the wild. See you at the wedding!"

The envelope and paper simultaneously burst into confetti.

Severus, shoulders and greasy black hair covered in bits of flashing, glittering paper, cursed his father six ways from Sunday.

* * *

Hermoine lay back on the bed and let the Contract scroll roll from her hand. She exhaled loudly, staring, once again, at the blank stones of the ceiling. 

She guessed that she had thought to find something earth-shattering in the Contract when she re-read it, now that she was aware of all the hidden depths lurking behind the bureaucratic nonsense and quasi-legalese. She wanted to be convinced that she had made an error, she supposed, when she added her name to the list. Certainly, she had had her reasons, but in retrospect the choice had to be ludicrous, right?

Unfortunately, no. Even upon this last, deep reading of the terms and conditions she saw nothing overtly objectionable in the Contract. Certainly, large gaping holes were left where cultural knowledge would fill most wizards' mental blanks – muggles and the muggle-born were at a definite disadvantage when dealing with the Ministry to begin with, though – but there was nothing that sparked thoughts of fear or objection to logic.

The Contract was cut and dried. The wizarding birthrate was going down, inbreeding and inbred abnormalities were on the rise. The solution was clear to even the dimmest bulb – intermarriage with the magically-talented muggle-born would bring new blood to even the most twisted and gnarled of family trees. The Contract was an incentive for purebloods to make the choice as much as for the muggle-born – after all, in the wake of Voldemort's deatheaters and the pureblood hatred of what some families persisted in calling mudblood pollution, even the pureblooded wizards would need some coercion to make the choices that had to be made if the wizarding world were to survive.

As for the muggle-born, well, the advantage was clear. Acceptance – and not only for a muggle-born female, but for their future children, as well. Acceptance and power.

For Hermione, whose future in the wizarding world was uncertain at the very best – good grades were wonderful, but internships and apprenticeships in Wizarding London, well, Wizarding England, for that matter, were obtained mostly by having the right family, the right friends, the right attitude. Hermione was going to leave Hogwarts with two strikes against her to begin with: she was muggle-born, and she was totally unconnected.

Of course, having Harry and Ron as friends helped somewhat, but with their current relationships? Well, Ron's family was already pushing societal limits, despite the flourishing Weasley birthrate, and Harry… well, if Harry didn't grow up some she didn't know how much she wanted him to be a friend.

So, faced with a job as a shopkeeper or third-rate witch in some production line, or starting University and embarking on a life in non-magical England… well, the Marriage Law still seemed like a good deal.

After all, not all pureblooded wizards were snobbish, muggle-hating snots. It was the bedamned former deatheaters and their families that were the huge honking fly in the pudding.

And, she toed the Contract and let a smile creep across her face, she had been picked by Professor Snape! Well, Snape's father, at least. He was connected... He was one of best Potions experts in Britain, maybe even in Europe! He clearly had family with some pull… his father had to have gotten the list early from the Ministry for her to have gotten the notification so soon after the actual publication – and before Ron's father had managed to set hands on it! As for the personal stuff, well, that was a blessing as well, no?

He was nasty, but he worked for the Order. He was a friend of the Headmaster's! Sure, he and Professor McGonagall scratched at each other, and yes, he had been a deatheater, but she simply couldn't imagine that the Headmaster would have allowed someone of uncontrolled evil teach a class, let alone a dangerous one. It also counted for him that in all the years he had taught Potions there had only been one fatality!

And, unless he decided to quit his job and move, she was going to be living with the Headmaster and the other teachers for the foreseeable future. That gave at least some inkling of safety, right?

Her last thoughts, as she felt herself drifting off to sleep, were of the most personal of personal aspects of a betrothal and marriage. Sex. Intimacy.

He was Professor Snape. She was a student.

She was completely off the hook!

She slept happily for the first night since Ginny's troubling revelation about the dark nature of Wizarding society.

_To Be Continued..._

_Author's Note:_

_Some have been asking that I include the requirements of the Marriage Law Challenge in the fic, which is totally reasonable. Of course, in the year since I began and first posted the beginning of this story the 'net has been populated with MLC fics, and mine is only one of many such stories. However, for those who haven't yet run across a MLC fic, the requirements are below._

_Also, for those curious, the Marriage Law Challenge is a product of the WIKTT yahoogroup – When I Kissed The Teacher, a list devoted to the Hermione Granger/Severus Snape 'ship of Harry Potter._

_Requirements: (I removed the deadline because it passed quite some time ago… but I'll still finish the fic.)_

_The Marriage Law – by Chelleybean_

_Challenge Requirements_

_There have been more and more fanfics cropping up that note the interbreeding that appears to be rampant in the Pureblood families. Some fans may have even noticed how the Purebloods often seem to be depicted as less intelligent and less attractive than the half-bloods and Muggleborns, even in JK Rowling's books themselves. Why not put this to good use?_

_My challenge is this: The Ministry of Magic has finally acknowledged, publicly, that the wizarding world is in danger as the continued intermarrying of the Pureblood line causes more and more stillbirths, squibs and barren children. In an attempt to save the old families The Marriage Law has been put into place. Under this law any Pureblood wizard or male head of a Pureblood family can petition for a betrothal contract giving them legal power over a Muggleborn witch. This step has been deemed necessary as they discovered Muggle families feel that betrothal contracts are too 'old fashioned' and would rather let their daughters 'fall in love'. Our leading man of choice is going to get a contract on Hermione._

_Deadline is 04/09/14_

_Conditions:_

_Your choice of how his contract comes to be:_

_Severus' father, desperate to save the Snape family, selects her for her brilliance and power._

_Severus falls in love with Hermione, but she rejects him, forcing him to take a more 'high handed' approach._

_There must be a confrontation between Severus and Hermione's father._

_No Rape! Hermione must either skillfully convinced or romantically won over into being a willing participant in the marriage bed._

_Lucius Malfoy must challenge, either by duel or wizard court, Snape's claim to Hermione in an attempt to get her for Draco._

_Freebies:_

_No limit on length or rating, but remember to warn younger readers if you're going to be racy._

_Be funny, serious, however you want to be._

_Remember, jealous young snots are fun to screw with._

_If you're going to post on WIKTT, please put the story in the challenge folder so we can find it._

_Enjoy yourselves!_

_I love picture, so feel free to throw in illustrations as well._


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